Page 7 of Steel & Surrender

Yet he wasn’t, and that wasn’t lost on anyone here. Brìghde marked the way a few villagers glanced toward Greig before quickly looking away again, as if embarrassed to witness his helplessness.

The Macleans drew to a halt under the yew trees, and the villagers gathered close, watching as the men lowered the coffin into the freshly dug grave. Soft sobbing reverberated around them, puncturing the morning’s stillness.

Brìghde bowed her head then, fingers tightening around one another until her knuckles ached. What a terrible loss.

And as soil was heaped over the top of the coffin, some local women came forward and knelt nearby. They began to keen then. An outpouring of grief that made Brìghde’s throat grow tight and her eyes burn.

Astrid—the clan-chief’s sister—stepped forward. Her long pale hair braided around the crown of her head, she was a regal sight, even in her grief. Lifting her chin, she began to sing. It was a lament that rose and fell in the damp air.

“Ochón, ochón, Alastair mo chridhe,

Why have ye left us so soon?

The tide still turns upon the Sound,

The wind still sighs across the hills,

But ye do not walk among us now,

Nor answer when yer name is called.

Ochón, ochón, fair son of Mull,

Yer sword lies still, yer hand is cold.

Yer mother weeps by the darkened hearth,

Yer father stands with a broken gaze,

Yer brothers walk in shadowed grief,

And none can fill yer place.

Ochón, ochón, Alastair mo chridhe,

Sleep now beneath the yew and stone.

May the saints keep watch upon yer rest,

May the green earth lie soft above,

And may we meet beyond the mist

Where sorrow yields to love.”

A tear escaped, rolling down Brìghde’s cheek. She brushed it away quickly, embarrassed to be seen weeping for a man who wasn’t hers to mourn.

Nonetheless, the tragedy of his death struck her deeply.

She’d always looked forward to Alistair’s visits to the forge, his smiles, and the warmth in his dark-brown eyes. He’d always arrived with that easy grin, as if the world held nothing but possibilities. Sometimes, when she lay upon her cot near the fire at night, she’d let herself imagine what it would be like to be wooed by a man like that.

Of course, it was nonsense to fantasize about such things.

Alistair had just been kind. He had no interest in her. Why would he? She was a lowborn woman, a hulking female blacksmith. Not the right sort for a man like him.

The clan-chief’s wife began to cry helplessly, and the Maclean moved close to her, wrapping his arms about Mairi’s shaking shoulders. They’d been such a strong couple over the years, their love enduring decades, but this tragedy rocked them both.

Brìghde was glad they had each other, especially now.